


Limiting Reactant

by sierbane



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Begging, Crying, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sub Steve Rogers, Verbal Humiliation, i clearly no longer know how to appropriately tag works, if so very very light h/c, is it hurt/comfort if the same character does the hurting and the comforting?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierbane/pseuds/sierbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, Bucky knows a lot about Steve. He might actually know Steve better than Steve does.</p>
<p>He knows that Steve hates, and mostly refuses to accept, that his body has the sort of limitations that the rest of him doesn’t. That’s an easy one. Bucky also knows, though, that while he would never in a million years admit it, there’s a part of Steve that needs to be weak, a part of him needs to be taken down a few pegs, roughed up a little. </p>
<p>And if Bucky can hit both of those birds with one well-placed, filthy-as-shit stone, all the better, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limiting Reactant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avengercat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avengercat/gifts).



> Written for the Summer Lovin’ 2015 Stucky D/s Challenge! 
> 
> @mygiftee i hope you like it!! :D it’s way more porn than plot, sorry about that  
> @god please let my first foray into both challenges & pre-serum steve not be a complete failure  
> 

All in all, today’s a damn good day, Bucky thinks.

The air’s warm enough to keep Steve from getting chilled, but not so muggy that he’s struggling to breathe; the back-pay for Steve’s last few commissions had come in; Bucky’s shift had ended early, giving him a free afternoon; and Steve’s currently spread out on their tiny bed, skinny limbs splayed out against the sheets, dick curving up toward his belly just a little and trailing thin strings of precome.

That last one, especially, is _real_ good. With Steve’s health issues, even getting it up can sometimes be out of the question, which would’ve mucked up Bucky’s plans.

See, the problem with Steve--or, rather, the problem with Steve as _Steve_ sees it, sure as hell not how Bucky sees it--is not so much that he _is_ easy, though God knows he is. It’s that he _comes_ easy, and he can’t always get it back up. Bucky figures that the first bit is because his efforts to defile Steve as regularly as possible didn't start up too long ago. As for the rest of it, well, Steve’s medical history reads like a damn health textbook, and there’s probably _something_ buried in there that explains it.

The thing is, Bucky knows a lot about Steve. He might actually know Steve better than _Steve_ does.

He knows that Steve hates, and mostly refuses to accept, that his body has the sort of limitations that the rest of him doesn’t. That’s an easy one. Bucky also knows, though, that while he would never in a million years admit it, there’s a part of Steve that needs to be weak, a part of him needs to be taken down a few pegs, roughed up a little. 

And if Bucky can hit both of those birds with one well-placed, filthy-as-shit stone, all the better, right?  

***

“I know you want to do better, Stevie,” Bucky croons. “I know you can do better. We just gotta work on it, is all.”

Steve’s dick doesn’t soften in the slightest at what Bucky’s saying, but his face is on _fire_. Bucky can almost feel the heat and embarrassment radiating off of it, and that warms him down to his toes, down to his cock. Steve _needs_ this, but Bucky _loves_ it. He’s not sure what that says about him, but with Steve right here, burning up from the inside-out and achingly hard, he can’t bring himself to care.

They’ve been at this for a while already. He’s been careful, sticking to kissing and necking, fleeting touches here and there. Their clothes are off, so Steve can’t get any friction rubbing off against them; and he’s keeping just a little distance, so Steve can’t get any friction rubbing off against _him_. Steve, being Steve, gets impatient as hell and tries to hurry things along, tries to get more friction, more stimulation, more _something_ , but Bucky holds out. There’s a point to this, after all. 

“Keep your hands up there, Stevie,” Bucky tells him. “I don’t wanna see you move a muscle.” When he’s sure Steve’s heard him and plans on following instructions, Bucky crawls down Steve’s body until he reaches his dick. Bracketing Steve's hips with his elbows, he leans in, getting all close and personal. Not too personal, though. They’ve still got a while to go. 

With that in mind, Bucky takes his time just looking his fill. Steve’s got a nice dick--not too big, but not as small as some of the dames he tries to set Steve up with probably think. For a moment he holds himself over Steve, taking in deep breaths of his scent. Steve gives a full-body shiver, but stays mostly still. Keeping an ear out for any sign of wheezing, Bucky rewards Steve by nuzzling his cheek against Steve’s cock and lightly, so lightly, mouthing at the shaft.

After all the foreplay, it seems that’s about as much as Steve can take. He pants and arches his back, and, like the pushy asshole he is, tries to reach for Bucky and shove his head down. Bucky snorts and knocks Steve’s hands away, climbing back up to straddle Steve’s waist. Making sure that Steve’s not taking too much of his weight, he settles in, shifting his hips a few more times than strictly necessary. Steve moans helplessly when the motion brings his dick in contact with Bucky's ass, and Bucky grins fiercely. While Steve might like to pretend otherwise during a fight, he’s never gonna be as strong as Bucky, definitely not strong enough to either throw Bucky off or make him keep going. All he can do is bring his slender hands up to rest on Bucky’s hips and irritably dig his short nails in.

Bucky figures that Steve needs a reminder as to who's calling the shots here. Grabbing both of Steve’s frail wrists, he shoves them above Steve’s head. He’s grasping them harder than he probably should, but the harsh whimper it tears out of Steve gets him going like crazy, gets his blood boiling. Transferring Steve’s wrists to just one hand, he gives Steve an insultingly light slap to the face that, despite the lack of real force behind it, still leaves a mark. He follows up by gripping Steve’s chin, turning his head to the side to admire his handiwork, and then, because it’s right there, biting at the junction of Steve’s jaw and his neck. Steve’s whining transforms into a full-on wail, and he tries desperately to buck his hips up.

Because Steve’s not the only mean fucker around, Bucky throws an exaggerated look over his shoulder at Steve’s dick.

“Gee, Stevie, I have to say, that looks painful,” Bucky tells him, faux-sympathetically. He’s actually only being a little disingenuous about it; it really does look like it hurts, swollen and brutally red, slowly darkening to a bruised purple. So far, this is the longest Steve has gone without coming.

Steve shoots him a look that’s deeply pissed off and just as turned on, and there's no way Bucky can resist that. Leaning down, he presses his lips against Steve’s. When that goes well enough, he deepens the kiss, turns it sloppy and hot, parting Steve’s lips with his tongue and reveling in the filthy-slick sounds of their mouths sliding against each other.

When Bucky pulls back Steve’s a fucking mess. His pupils are blown to hell and back, lips swollen and dark red like the head of his cock. The sight goes straight to _Bucky’s_ cock, and goddamn, they need to get this show on the road so _he_ doesn’t shoot off too early.

Steve’s hair looks soft, so Bucky buries a hand in it. He uses the other to idly tweak one of Steve’s small, pink nipples, humming at Steve’s surprised yelp. “You’ve held out for a while, babydoll. You wanna come? Is that it?” Steve’s eyes narrow briefly, stubbornly, and Bucky thinks he’s about to get an earful. But it looks like Steve's finally decided to play a little nicer, because he nods shallowly instead of mouthing off, mindful of Bucky’s hand in his hair.

“Yeah,” Steve responds, tripping over the rest of his sentence when Bucky rubs insistently at his nipple, lips curved around a silent _oh_.

“Then ask me nice,” Bucky says, tightening his grip on Steve’s hair and yanking his head back to expose the thin, pale skin of his throat. “I know you can.” Bucky watches Steve’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, clearly torn between his natural inclination to be the most contrary son of a bitch on the face of the earth and his desperation to get off. Finally, the blush across the bridge of Steve's nose deepens, and Bucky feels a little wild with the knowledge of what comes next.

“Please,” Steve grits out, face reddening even more, pretty and humiliated. “Buck, just let me come, _please_.” His voice cracks on the last word, and Bucky’s dick throbs. He wants to palm himself, wants to rut against Steve like a goddamn animal and stripe him with come, all the way from the delicate curve of his collarbone to the sharp jut of his skinny hips. This isn’t about that, though. He manages to push the urge away, just barely.

Instead, Bucky makes a show of mulling the request over. “Nah,” he drawls after a while, smirking. Steve glares at him--or tries to, through the fog of lust and _need_ \--and opens his mouth to object. Bucky uses the opportunity to slide a couple fingers onto his tongue. Miracle of miracles, Steve doesn’t try to bite his goddamn fingers off at the knuckle, so he keeps talking.

“Given the givens,” Bucky explains, “I’m thinkin’, maybe I get mine first, and then, if you’ve been good enough, we’ll see whether or not you get a hand on your dick.” Steve moans at that, hips thrusting abortively, dick jerking and pushing out another dribble of precome.

“Because, see, here’s my thought.” Bucky continues. “I’m thinkin' you’re just gonna start shirking once you get yours. I know what you’re like when you’re all fucked-out and loose, making me do all the work to put you where I want you. Lord knows I’ve had to do it before, seeing as you always come before me.”

Bucky pauses. “Not that it’s difficult to do, mind, with you weighing a buck and change wet and holding a stack of bibles.” He gives Steve’s hair one last tug before running his hand through it, mussing it even further. Steve must be reaching pretty far gone, because instead of getting in a full-blown snit about what Bucky’s saying, he just whines and sucks at Bucky’s fingers.

And with that, Bucky's well and truly  _done_ with the goddamn waiting. He groans, the erection he’d been ignoring in favor of handling Steve suddenly unbearable. A man has limits, and apparently his are set firmly at Steve’s mouth stretched wide around his fingers, tongue curling against them like they’re an ice pop in the dead of summer. 

Reaching around a little desperately for a pillow to shove underneath Steve’s hips, Bucky forces himself to stop and take a moment to compose himself. He wants to break Steve, not _break_ him, and as much as Steve generally ignores the distinction, there’s a line between being rough and causing real damage.

That in mind, Bucky hitches Steve’s legs up over his shoulders and gets the pillow in place. “Doin’ good, babydoll?” He says, turning his head to press kisses into the inside of Steve’s knee.

“ _Christ_ , yeah, Bucky, come on,” Steve complains breathily, having apparently regained some of his faculties in the meantime. Bucky snorts, snagging a tin of slick from the bedside table and coating his fingers.

“ _Jesus_ , Rogers, language,” Bucky grumbles. “Leave you to your own devices for one goddamn second, this is what happens. ‘S what I get for trying to be sweet.” Whatever Steve plans on saying in return trails off into a hurt-sounding moan when Bucky switches from kisses to rough bites, leaning down even further to pepper them along the inside of Steve’s thighs. He opens Steve up a little faster than he probably should, fingers him a little more shallowly than he would otherwise, soothing the bites with his tongue as he goes. By the time he finishes Steve’s damn near incoherent again, whimpering hotly and squirming on Bucky’s fingers, pushing his skinny ass back to try to get them just a little deeper.

Before long he’s slicking himself up and lining up with Steve’s hole. He stops just shy of it, grinning when Steve whines and tries to close the distance. “I’m trusting you on this one, Stevie,” Bucky warns, lovingly. “Don’t let me down. You come while I’m still inside you, before I do, and we’re gonna have a problem.” Steve looks up at him, glassy-eyed, and nods.

Taking that as his cue, Bucky slowly pushes in, groaning. It becomes clear pretty damn soon that Steve might not have to worry. Bucky’s been on edge forever, too, and Steve’s just so fucking _tight_. Even tighter than usual, since he hasn’t had an orgasm to take the edge off and help loosen him up. Inch-by-inch, Bucky buries himself a little further into Steve, panting at the sweet, furnace-hot clench of Steve’s walls around his dick. He pauses and sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth. Carefully, closing his eyes against the feeling, he pulls back and starts thrusting, slowly at first, picking up speed little-by-little. Steve’s whines are coming almost continuously, running together into one sweet, high sound.

The problem--or, again, not a problem as far as Bucky’s concerned, but a problem for the purpose of what he’s trying to do here--is that Steve doesn’t actually need someone to touch his dick to come. All he has to do is rub up against Steve’s prostate, give it a couple of good strokes, and Steve’ll be _done_. Bucky fucking loves it, loves that Steve can come on his dick, _just_ from his dick. But while he could keep Steve from coming on his fingers, there’s just no way the same'll hold true when Steve's on his dick.

He knows he’s being a little mean, knows he’s setting Steve up for failure, but it goes against everything in his bones to fuck Steve without making it good. And if Bucky's being strictly honest with himself, that's the way he wants it. Plus, he thinks, he can make the consequences of failing good for Steve. Good for both of them. The thought sends a shiver up his spine and he moans harshly, burying himself deeper into Steve, right up to the hilt.

That’s all it takes, one final well-placed thrust to bring it home. Steve comes harder than Bucky’s ever seen, come splattering against his stomach and chest in thick pulses. Bucky's almost surprised enough to stop, but momentum and the overwhelming, instinctive drive to chase his own release keeps him going. He only gets in a few more thrusts, though, before the picture of Steve beneath him and the fluttering clench of Steve around him drags him over the edge.

Bucky takes a moment to pant through the aftershocks, hanging his head so he can school the dopey, sated look he’s sure he’s sporting away. When he looks back up at Steve, it's with a sharp smile.

“Would you look at that,” Bucky chides, swiping his fingers through the mess on Steve’s stomach. He tsks, doing what he thinks is a damn fine impression of the Catholic nuns back in Sunday school. “You were doing so well, Stevie. What happened?" Steve still looks a little stunned, like he’d be basking in the afterglow if he wasn’t so shocked at how hard he’d come.

Bucky graciously picks up the conversational slack. “Well,” he says, “it seems to me that if we can’t keep you from shooting off like that, we gotta at least make sure you can get it up again after. Ain’t that right?”

***

For a moment, all Steve can do is stare at Bucky, chest heaving as he sucks in breath after breath. Getting off normally knocks him on his ass, leaves him feeling spent and weak. Right now, though, his heart is fluttering wildly in his chest, and he feels flush with adrenaline. He knows that he’s not going to have an attack, though, which means Bucky'll be able to tell that, too.

“Quit stallin’ for time, Rogers,” Bucky drawls, lazy and satisfied. “Touch yourself.” He hasn’t even pulled out of Steve yet, seemingly content to direct the proceedings from between Steve’s legs, cock just beginning to soften in Steve’s ass. For whatever reason, _that_ makes Steve blush even more than the request. He feels uncomfortably pinned down under Bucky’s gaze. It mostly makes him want to squirm away, even though there's some part of him that wants to squirm _closer_. 

But Steve’s always had a hard time saying no to Bucky, and he’s even less equipped to do it covered in come and barely through the last waves of orgasm. He hisses, more in pain than anything else, when his fingers skirt the head of his cock. He’s soft and still sensitive from coming, and the touch is overwhelming. He tries again, but his fingers stutter halfway through the downstroke.

“Come on,” Bucky says, firmly. “None of that.” He moves Steve’s legs off his shoulders. Blood rushes back into them, sending tingles through his cramped muscles. Shuffling back, Bucky finally pulls out of Steve, yanking off the rubber and throwing it somewhere onto the floor. Steve has a moment to feel briefly, absurdly annoyed at that before Bucky moves forward again and covers Steve's hand with his own, setting a rhythm and forcing Steve to keep stripping his cock.

“See,” Bucky says, regretfully, “this here is what I mean. You get off, and I’m stuck here doin’ all the work. Ain’t fair, is what I’m sayin’.” He pulls both of their hands away and spits on Steve’s upturned palm before returning them to Steve’s cock. As if to punish Steve for the lapse, he speeds his pace up slightly, adding a vicious twist on the upstroke.

The hell of it is, Steve actually starts to harden up again. That’s what finally does him in. Hot, angry tears wet his lashes and blur his vision. He screws his eyes shut, but they leak out of the corners, spilling down his cheeks in burning trails and dampening the pillow on either side of him. It’s too much, it’s too much, it _hurts_. He’s mindless with it, can’t tell where the boundary between pain and pleasure is anymore, doesn’t care. Something inside him gives, crumbles under the onslaught.

“Bucky, I can’t, I _can’t_ \--” he sobs, and it’s true, he really _can’t_ , his body just can’t take this, God, _Bucky_. 

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, slowing down. “That’s all I wanted to hear, babydoll.” Steve chokes on another sob as Bucky moves to kiss his forehead, his cheeks, the curve of his jaw. “That’s good, that’s real good. I’ve got you.” He takes his hand off Steve’s cock, and Steve doesn’t know if his resulting shudder is out of relief or loss. Bucky notices, of course Bucky notices, and moves his hand back, lightly encircling Steve with his fingers.

“Whaddya want, Stevie?” Bucky asks, trailing the knuckles of his other hand down Steve’s sides soothingly, tracing the outline of his ribs beneath the skin. “Since you did so good. You want my tongue in you? On you? I promise, it’ll be good.” Steve shakes his head, honest-to-god unsure as to whether he means _neither_ or _you choose, anything, please_.

Steve actually doesn’t know whether he says any of that out loud, or whether Bucky just knows, like he always does. It still hurts, but it’s sweeter this time. Bucky coaxes him back to full hardness, mouthing at the inside of his thighs, then his balls, and finally his shaft. Steve lets him, pliant against the sheets. He reaches for Bucky, feeling like his arms are moving through liquid, and cups Bucky’s jaw. Bucky hums, licking his way up Steve’s length. When he reaches the head, he sucks on it gently before taking the rest of Steve into his mouth.

The second orgasm doesn’t smash into him like the first one did; it builds up, solid and aching, until it consumes him. Bucky doesn’t pull back, just swallows down what little come Steve has left. He holds Steve in his mouth for a little while longer, keeping Steve’s cock warm while it softens, before finally letting it slip from his mouth.

Steve doesn’t pass out right there and then, but it’s a close call. Instead, he stays conscious long enough for Bucky to lean up and drop a soft kiss on his lips, chaste but for the lingering taste of himself on them.

***

_Yeah_ , Bucky thinks, pushing sweat-dampened hair away from Steve’s forehead and gazing down at him, curled up on the bed and out like a light. It’s a good thing that Steve’s asleep; the expression on Bucky’s face probably looks stupid and sappy as shit. _All in all, a damn good day._


End file.
